


or contention

by Ladoga



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Crying, Noldor schism, OTK, Other, Paddling, Spanking, Tumblr Prompt, kind of discipline, self sacrificial tendencies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 19:11:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15250107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladoga/pseuds/Ladoga
Summary: 'He had done his best, and still the best he thinks he might say for the talk is that it did not at any point degenerate into violence."Nelyafinwë, come see me in my rooms.”'





	or contention

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction. In real life, don't hit children. Also don't hit nonconsenting adults. (This story is not an example of consent.)
> 
> On tumblr someone requested,
>
>> Anonymous asked: Ohhh man, do you take requests? I'd just love to see more about Fingolfin spanking Maedhros over his knee.
> 
> They then further elaborated,
>
>> Anonymous asked: Hmmmm maybe it is dark!Fingolfin, just because I like the idea of Maedhros being shocked. Maybe young Mae? Not underage just, pre-angband when he would be less used to it. And maybe he puts up with it because he’s worried that if Fingolfin isn’t satisfied by the experience, he’ll go after his brothers if he’s just venting anger at Feanor and feanorians in general here. But you can ignore these things if you like, I’m not picky! Thank you so much!

The talk did not go well. His father was not even present (though Curufinwë, at least, seemed to have perhaps chosen to represent him in absentia), and still it did not go well. He had done his best, with conciliatory statements, with an effort to interpret speakers to each other, with frequent comments that he understood this-and-such perspective, he did. And still the best he thinks he might say for it, at the end, is that it did not at any point degenerate into violence.

Everyone is leaving, now, the sides of the talk too easily identifiable by their glares at the other, and he sits wracking his brain for how to do  _ better _ , he needs to do  _ better _ , when his Uncle’s voice interrupts his thoughts.

“Nelyafinwë, come see me in my rooms.” And oh, perhaps his Uncle would be able to advise him on this, have some insight for him on how these tensions might be addressed, how their people might reach better understanding, regain the peace that they had lost. With a farewell at a few companions, he follows after Nolofinwë.

  
  


With the door of his rooms closed behind him, Nolofinwë seats himself on a couch at the wall. No chairs stand across from it, and Maitimo isn’t sure he should sit down by his uncle just now, so he remains standing, looking to the older elf as he waits for him to speak on what brought them here. Then it has been a minute, and still Nolofinwë is silent, and,

“Uncle -” he begins to venture.

“I’m very disappointed, Nelyafinwë.” He falls silent when his uncle’s voice cuts across his, as severe in its sound as its content. He lowers his head. Unknowing yet what his Uncle may refer to, still it stings, aware as he had just been of failings all himself. “While your father and I may have our differences, and suspicious as I am of his aims and character, still I thought that at the least in raising of his children he may have done well.” 

Head still lowered, Maitimo finds himself taken aback. Of course his father had raised them well. Nolofinwë had been there for it, in those happier days before the present rancor. But Nolofinwë only continues. “And yet, in the midst of all the quarrels between ourselves and our people, the blatant disrespect I have seen from your brothers has put me in doubt of that!” Still, most of what he feels is confounded.

“Uncle, I don’t-”

“Don’t interrupt me! Quarrels or not, I am your father’s brother, and we are in my chambers, and you will hear me when I speak to you.” Maitimo nods silently. He does not know, does not understand what has caused this in his Uncle, but he knows when a conversation will not be helped by speaking. He came here to pursue the cause of peace between Houses, and pursue it he will, whatever turn this took that he had had no foresight of.

“In this very meeting we have left, three times did your brother interrupt an elder, and with almost every statement did he show utter impudence and ill manneredness. So tell me, am I correct? Is it your father who has taught him so?”  _ Our father did not teach us that our age or our generation made us less equal to others, or less capable in conversation, or subject to some strictures all were not. Nor did you ever teach us that.  _ He does not say that. Whatever has caused his Uncle to act this way - his mind striking out toward those he feels that he can reach? Some resentment of his own father or childhood? - it will not be so easily undone or unraveled.

“I’m sorry Uncle, for any offense we may have given, my brothers and I. But please, do not blame our father for what are our own actions. Curufinwë and I are both of majority; it is on us to make our own choices, and take the responsibility of them.” His Uncle regards him with an expression Maitimo had barely seen on his face before.

“Come here.” Obeying, he walks closer, standing nearly in front of the older elf.

“Perhaps that is so. But you are my brother’s eldest. If not your father, it is you who should be attentive to your brothers, and give them reproof when their behavior so requires it.” Maitimo nods. While not so in what his Uncle has currently spoken about, he has certainly before taken it upon himself to conduct himself well as the eldest. As so when this might mean talking with his brothers about good actions to be taken, about what they might wish to do as the Eldar they wish to be. (Of course, his brothers in turn have returned such aid to him, when it is he who needs it.)

“If you would tell me your complaints, Uncle, I would be glad to talk of them with Curufinwë, or any other of my brothers.” Nolofinwë nods in turn.

“Very well.” He rises from his seat, goes to a drawer. Returns with something wooden, smooth and polished, like the back of a hairbrush without the bristles on it. “Come over here and lie across my lap.” 

This time, it is no conscious strategy that leaves him speechless. “Uncle...” He knows what the item is, what the order means. Knows that this is something done by some Eldar parents (even as never by his own), brought from Cuivinen to Valinor. Knows even, from mentions by Findekano, by his other cousins, that his Uncle and Aunt had been among them. But he is not his Uncle’s son, and not a child who has crept into the forge and nearly burned himself or left the house at night and left his parents worrying.

“Do you wish to argue with me? You said you accepted the responsibility. If that is not so, perhaps I should better speak to your brothers myself.” He still finds himself barely able to speak. But, even at that, not unable to think. If his Uncle talks to his brothers, at best it will be unpleasant, hearing this from him as Maitimo has already done. Or, cowed, they might agree to what he asks. Or only escalate the fight, driving still deeper strife between them. And even if Nolofinwë does not, arguing with him now will only do the same. Again he swallows. Steps forward.

“I’m sorry Uncle. I do take responsibility. There is no need to go to my brothers. I am the eldest. Instruct me, and I will speak with them.” He’s - not really sure how to do this, he realizes, as he moves closer. Not - something he has done himself before, or seen done where he might have observed. But - he can understand the principle, he thinks. Finds himself biting down on his lip (it would not do to cry now, to think overmuch what brought his Uncle to this, why, to remember, long for times long gone now, when approaching his Uncle would mean a hug, a smile, a compliment on a game or work…). Moves to lay himself across his Uncle’s lap, legs and upper body supported by the couch, and - Nolofinwë is right handed, yes, he thinks this should be right - 

He bites his lip again when he feels hands moving his clothes. The Eldar see no shame in nudity, but still he had hoped -. But he has made his resolution, and he will not argue with his Uncle, now.    


The first strike still manages to catch him by surprise. For a moment it is just the sound, and the shock, and then he feels the sting of it, his reaction muffled by the couch’s pillows. Others follow, quickly, and he flinches and then jumps too hard, almost tumbling off his Uncle’s lap. The response is an arm around his waist and two even harder strikes to the very tops of his thighs. 

“Do you change your mind, Nelyafinwë? Do you not accept this after all?”

“I’m sorry Uncle,” he manages to get out. “I do accept it.” Another strike, what feels like absolute center. 

“Then mind how you conduct yourself! You are not a child, to be beyond control of yourself.”

“Yes, Uncle. I’m sorry, Uncle.” He wraps his arms around the pillow, tries to fit his legs somehow under the couch’s arm. Let Nolofinwë’s arm now holding him be a reminder.  _ Stay still. Stay still and it’ll be done soon. _

He does not know enough to truly judge, but he thinks that even with his own conduct improved, his Uncle does not show him much lenity. The strikes come down, hard and with that repeated moment-behind sharpness. He holds himself from anything his Uncle might consider escape attempt again, but cannot hold himself from movement entirely, flinching and twisting on his Uncle’s lap. Ends up sobbing after all, from the - circumstance - together with from the pain.  _ Why _ …

“You can stand.” The final strikes had come harder still, and when they had stopped he had not been sure if his Uncle was truly done, did not want to dare assuming. Stayed lying in place, crying still over his uncles knees and couch. He doesn’t think he quite receives the words at first, but when he does he tries indeed to stand, pushing himself up and stumbling twice before his feet stay right under him. 

“Think you my instruction has been well conveyed?” He searches half blindly in his pockets for his handkerchief, finds it, tries his best to wipe his eyes with it.

“Yes, Uncle. I’m sorry, Uncle.”

“Then I will hope we will not need to repeat it soon.”  _ Repeat it soon _ . That gets another sob from him.  _ Why… _

“Yes, Uncle. I - I hope we will not offend you so again, Uncle.”

“I also hope the same.” His Uncle has put the paddle down on the cabinet. Almost without meaning to, he finds himself looking at it. Tears his eyes away and back to his Uncle. He does not wish to give Nolofinwë more cause to find him disrespectful, not now. “Now leave my chambers. And mind you speak to your brothers soon.”

“Yes, Uncle.” Again he obeys. Closes the door behind him; looks up and down the hallway for - anyone - before proceeding on. He needs to find somewhere with a washbasin, whereever’s closest. He needs -. He finds a washbasin, makes his way back to his chambers. Sits down gingerly in his own chair. He - he needs a better plan. A better understanding of this division and feud. Better strategies. He cannot let things remain as they are, or worsen still. He bends over his records, tries, as he can, to think of the present, the future, and not the past.  _ The peace of Valinor _ …

He will find a way to the peace again, he will do better. He wants to leave his chair and curl in his bed and sob again. But he cannot - he must do better. He can, and he must, and he will.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a [Merriam-Webster definition for 'feud'](http://www.dictionary.com/browse/feud).
> 
> (Does anyone know if there's a tag/term for this kind of age/generation hierarchy thing Nolofinwë is using here? It's not quite authoritarianism...)


End file.
